


The Everlasting Gaze

by coveryourheads (rsk110)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S2, the group struggles to find a place they could call 'home'.  To Daryl, 'home' is a place he can't obtain anymore.  He's lost so much and after the years, the only thing he has to live for is his 'family', consisting of only the few left over from Atlanta.  He has only the memories that turn into nightmares about what he had had, until he finds out there may be a chance he could have back what he's lost.</p><p>for smallfandombang (on LJ)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> Title is 'The Everlasting Gaze' by the Smashing Pumpkins. I'm horrible with summaries; so vague, I'm sorry about that.
> 
> Posting for smallfandombang on LJ. It was very fun and worth the many drafts this went through. I'm sure there are many mistakes I have missed in correcting.
> 
> Lovely cover and mix made by Gryph. ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/750288), [LJ](http://gryphon2k.livejournal.com/251297.html)) Thank you so much! They are such a beautiful body of work!

_You know I'm not dead_  
 _I'm just living in my head  
 _Forever waiting on the ways of your desire  
 _You always find a way...  
 _Forgotten touch  
 _Forbidden thought  
 _We can never have enough  
 _You know I'm not dead...  
 _We all want to hold in the everlasting gaze  
 _Enchanted in the rapture of his sentimental sway  
 _But underneath the wheels lie the skulls of every cog  
 _The fickle fascination of an everlasting god___________  
-"Everlasting Gaze" by Smashing Pumpkins 

 

"Do you believe in God?" The words are emotionless and ever repetitive. The same old man still dressed in the ragged cloth of God stands in front of a once grand old cathedral, now only barely standing on three walls. The pulpit has been destroyed from the napalms, the stained-glass windows are shattered, and the majestic cross of the dying Jesus has gone with the dust and rubble.

Daryl doesn't reply and keeps walking. He has places to be with no time to make snarky remarks to an old man. It's still a mystery how the old priest survived the five years of literal hell. He's not sure if it had been a holy intervention. He remembers enough about the Judgment Day from listening to Sunday school teachers. Something about the dead rising from the graves and the saved people all getting lifted up into heaven while sinners are left on Earth in suffering to wait the final Judgment. He's still waiting for that day; not that he cares about heaven or hell. What makes him skeptical is that no one got saved; not even the preacher. A whole lot of walking dead though.

He paces down the street of a once bustling shopping district. Signs boasting of high quality wares still shout out to a passerby but the shops are now only busted windows and tattered fabrics. Daryl likes going down this street. It can't be cleared away. The cars still sag on dead tires, jagged arrangements on the wide street. People don't go this way because it's a roundabout way from anywhere useful; only those curious, the ones who are new stragglers into the city come this way. Daryl has done that as well, when they first got here.

They... were so few. The five years after everything had gone down, Daryl met and lost too many people. He'd actually cared for some of them, liked them for who they were, even though there lacked trust after a while. From Atlanta, he'd come this far. The only ones from the original group of the rock quarry camp are Carl and Andrea, though they'd lost her once before. He'd brought the boy here. Even when the radio of the salvaged car crackled an actual human voice, calling out to 'anyone who might be listening', Daryl still had few more people left. Maggie; she'd always been a survivor. She'd lost her family just as Carl had. And then they lost people to the 'cure'. They had been still living and fighting the two more years after the first dissonant radio transmission. When he'd seen Andrea again among the group of people in Woodbury, he had not believed it. Andrea, strong will just as thick as her luck, had come with him and twice saved his life. The baby girl, Judith, still doesn't speak a word and sleeps tucked against Daryl's arm or no sleep at all. They had arrived in one vehicle, beyond exhausted and just skin on bones.

Daryl bites down on his cheeks. The once booming voice of the old priest asks the same question, still carried well over the empty air. "Do you believe in God?" From the laughter and sniggers, the teenage boys taunt the old man. Daryl turns around, the finger extended next to the crossbow's trigger. The crossbow has saved his life far too many times to count, fed them, kept his mind on the important things, and had been a constant reminder of the weight on his shoulders. He stands still, observing. The two teens, not much older than Carl is now, armed with remnants of dead soldiers and people, push and shove the priest. Daryl cannot take it; he aims, using the scope, fires, feeling the bolt hit the wall next to one boy, barely missing skin. The boys freeze; hand wrapping around the knife on their belt, pulling out a gun. Daryl stomps back to retrieve the bolt from the brick wall. The boys study him, recognize and then back off, running towards the direction they'd come from, back to the 'village'.

"The sun's settin'. You should go on home." Daryl says while checking the point of the bolt. Brick wall or human skull, they damage the carbon little by little. An old bolt had shattered inside a walker before.

"God bless you, lad. But my home is in the house of God." The old man points to the church. Daryl had been inside with a surveyor once; it is not the most structurally sound place of the area. The priest has surprised him; all Daryl's ever heard him say is asking the tired old question to anyone who comes into view. He isn't as senile as he'd thought. But it's not his job to round up stray folks who don't have the wits to settle in at twilight. He has other things to do.

The old man is pulling at his arm with intent. To ask him that question again, probably. Daryl faces him.

"A token from an angel--"

The priest puts something small into his hand. He steps back and away, opening the heavy door of the cathedral. Daryl stands there until the door is closed.

An angel, he says. Daryl sniffs; he hasn't wanted payment for scaring off some punks. It's probably a quarter or something; useless. He looks down at his palm. It triggers a memory he doesn't want to have anymore.

+++

Daryl climbs the imposing staircase to the fourteenth floor of the apartment building. It houses people who have gotten this far across the country. There are three buildings of the complex, another set down the street, with smaller condos and houses. Fourteen-ten. It had used to be a home of an immigrant family, with books in a language he can't understand, still stacked along one wall. It has a new lock, one he'd installed himself, when during the first week it had been broken into. Luckily he had all the weapons on him, and anything valuable or worth sacking had been a few cans of food and a bottle of gin. Food, fuel and weapons, those were currency still. Life, blood and family are wealth. Judith greets him with a smile on her small face, little arms wrapping around his leg. Maggie had been cooking something with Carl setting the small table next to the kitchen's window.

Electricity is a thing no one takes for granted these days, but are grateful for. The first earning he'd had here, he'd bartered for a gas powered generator with promise of extended payments. Now they use it to power a burner to cook and heating water for drinking. It's not an awful set up they have. The women share a room, Carl and Judith in the other; Daryl sleeps on the sunken couch, invaded every night by the little girl. They have clean clothes to wear, food to eat mostly every night, and general safety among the hundreds living in the building. There is running water, though it isn't septic clean. It's better than hauling buckets up and down the staircases, he supposes. It gets dirt off his skin when he needs it.

He drops the bow next to the couch, the bundle of arrows, the guns, the knife and the heavy pack on the side table. His body feels lighter when he pulls off the thick black coat, sewn together from three like ones, to drape around his body and his head to provide cover from the harsh weather. He calls Carl over. His height and the shaggy length of hair reminds him of Rick, the freckles remaining on his nose that makes him so much like Lori. He doesn't smile so much anymore; the poor kid. Daryl hands him the pack so he can sort the stuff out; Carl is better than he is. Andrea comes out of the single bathroom, haggard from the day's work, tying up her long blond hair loosely in a ponytail. Maggie announces dinner in five minutes. Daryl says he'll wash his hands. Judith sits on the couch with her knees tucked under her chin; not something a four year old does so naturally. But the world isn't the same as when he'd been her age.

He takes a long piss, flushing, and remembers to put the seat down. Some things don't change at all. The single light bulb flickers. The bathroom is the only place in the apartment for a little privacy, even if it's for five minutes. He lets the water run for a little bit, sitting on the tub's edge. There are women's underwear drying on hangers along the wall; they don't even bother Daryl anymore. He digs into his pocket for the 'token'. It's too dark and it is too little for him to really examine it. It is a common enough thing. He should just trade it in, though the size of it won't bring in much at all.

_'You don't have to wear it. It's just a nice thought...'_

The bright words, the enthusiasm only a young man can have, still rings inside his head. He can't remember what he had responded to that. He has his on a ball-chain around his neck. As much as he doesn't want to, he has to look at it. The word inscribed inside. The gold still shimmers, warm from his skin. He hadn't found out how or where he'd gotten them; two gold rings inscribed fitting two different sized fingers so perfectly. His is bigger than the other's. He'd put it on to make him happy; and he'd smiled brighter than the gold. The memory makes his eyes wet. The inscription is 012.

_'When you read the numbers in Korean, it sounds like the word 'forever'. I didn't have a lot of time, so I had to keep it short.'_

"Daryl? Dinner's ready..." Maggie sounds cautious, knocking gently against the door.

"Alright." Daryl puts the other ring on the chain and slings it around his neck again. He quickly washes his hands with the bar soap. In the dirty mirror, he sees his face, older and tired, and the set of gold band hanging against his chest. He throws water over his face, tucking the chain under his shirt. It's a frightening memory he doesn't deserve to have, not in this world.

+++

"Your turn." The boy winced and put the bottle down between them. The skills amazed him, running in and out of one store to the next, locating and pocketing a list of things they needed. When he brought out a bottle of a familiar label, Daryl smiled. A good whiskey was a good whiskey. Though the involuntary cleansing left him with a lower tolerance, it was still better than Glenn's. Glenn hiccupped, body swaying from side to side. Daryl thought the kid would say something ridiculous but the eyes looked at him, too focused. Daryl fidgeted, teeth gnawing at his thumbnail. The kid looked drunk enough to answer this and he was buzzed enough to ask.

"Things I've stolen."

For a moment, the kid looked like he wanted to pick up the bottle. He made a smirk, eyes shutting tight.

"A paper clip from my second grade teacher. A paperback of love poems." Even drunk, his pronunciation was perfect. Glenn counted with his fingers for the next list. Four CDs. Nine iPods on nine different occasions. One library book. Three laptops. Video games. One bike. Two scooters. Glenn stopped swaying. He sounded angry or ashamed or both. He was louder, hands clenched. "Cellphones. Jewelry. Wallets. Credit card numbers. ATMs. A car!"

Daryl put his hands on the kid's shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The kid was shaking. He was sobbing and shaking, hands still in fists. He thought the kid would punch him but the hands went up to cover his face. Daryl studied the bone structure of the hands, skinny and pale, comparing them to his own, dirty nails and cuts and the set in dirt.

"All the times I stole things, I swore I would pay them back. I swore when I had money, I would pay everyone back, somehow. Now it's too late."

Daryl didn't know what to do or what to say. He just waited for the kid to calm down. The shoulders sagged under his hands. Glenn let out a deep breath.

"I keep thinking, I shouldn't have survived this. I don't know why I'm alive after all those things I've done."

"You're alive because you're... needed."

It made Glenn snort, mouth forming that half smile again. He didn't lie about it though. Glenn was needed in the group. He was an essential part of them. Of him.

"That's all I think about from before. I'm sure there were good memories, good things that have happened, but all I remember are the tricks I've pulled, taking wallets from business men, suit pockets, hacking ATMs. Hiding my face." Glenn looked up at him, and fizzed out a laughter. "You know the funny thing is... my second grade teacher was called Mrs. Dixon."

It was Daryl's turn to laugh. The bottle of whiskey was shoved into his chest.

"You didn't drink."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, almost forgotten. He took a long gulp, welcoming the burn.

"My turn." Glenn smiled, wobbling side to side again, wholly smug with what he got Daryl to do. He was going to take it further, challenging. "The first boy I kissed."

Daryl touched the bottle. His finger peeled at the label, already torn at the top corner. He knew Glenn watched him with curiosity, daring and maybe...

Daryl cleared his throat. "Glenn Rhee."

Glenn's eyes grew, body unmoving. His eyes were still wet and a frown set in between his brows. "Dar--"

Daryl pulled the kid by his nape, smashing his mouth against his. Glenn tasted like whiskey and something else so sweet. He kissed him, fingers gripping hard not because he wanted to take control, but because he was so unnerved by how natural this felt. Glenn, too, took hold of his arm, the nails digging into his skin, trembling.


	2. Chapter 02

+++

At first light, Daryl wakes, feet kicking and heart racing inside his ribs. It takes a minute to remember where he is. It is wonderful where he goes to every evening, a world that had contained a boy, his smile, the warmth of his skin. But then he loses it, and it feels like being tossed out of it. Now he has to be here. His arm is numb. He looks down. Judith has a death grip on him. He pats her back, to try to soothe her. She mumbles incoherently, letting go a little. Daryl can sit up on the couch now. He continues to rub her back, pulling up the blanket over her. He can look out the window, see what the world had been about.

He can look down at the immediate playground where children are allowed only one hour a day. Judith goes down with Carl, but doesn't associate with the others. She draws in the sand with a stick, sit on the swing with Carl pushing her. It's worse when Daryl goes with her. She stays beside him the entire hour. The women think he is her father; he and the others don't correct their assumption. It's easier for them and her to think she has at least one living parent. Andrea adamantly tells people that she is not Judith's mother.

Beyond the playground is a tall fence. It had used to keep people from accidently falling over the cliff. This island had been cut and shaved to build on top and make roads. Just below the man-made cliff is a highway, jammed with unmoving cars, another, and another, until there is a body of water. The river is wide and dirty, with corpses floating at the edges, swelled and rotting. The bridges have been blown, tunnels blocked. At first it had been to keep the walkers in the city. Now it serves to keep them out. A boat crosses over to the dock heavily guarded and fenced. Any walker is killed instantly. Anyone alive is vaccinated, kept in a locked room, and then they can get on a boat to try to stay alive. Food and other supervision is brought over, watched by the military and a few men of the city to make sure they get the things they pay for.

When living in a small town of Georgia, moving from one to another small town, Daryl had dreamed of living in a big city. Back then, he'd made it his goal to move to Atlanta. He'd heard and seen other big cities with colorful array of people, cultures, in movies and TV shows. It had never happened, though; the big city living. Now that he's here, it's unbelievable. A post-apocalyptic New York City, the grey façade of it even greyer without the colors of inhabitants.

He has to get to his job soon. He likes to start as early as he can, when he has sunlight. It's almost winter now, and it's brisk. The sun is also short. He stares out into the water, the waves harsh from the wind. Andrea and Maggie will be awake soon. He gets up to use the bathroom and shower. He doesn't mind cold showers but the girls do, and take longer than he cares to wait. He peels off his clothes, all patched up to make a new shirt, new jeans. Underneath them, Daryl emerges, with similar patchwork of scars and battle wounds. He has the deep scar from the cure on his shoulder, where it had felt of burning. There is a scar of the arrow, when he had desperately tried to locate a little girl. And there is another scar, a set of gold, clinking together when he touches the ball-chain. He looks at them through the mirror.

012\. The twin inscription inside the gold bands stab at his heart and his eyes. He hadn't cried when he'd lost people. He hadn't cried when he'd lost _him_. A token from an angel, the old man had said. Yes. He doesn't even want to know how he'd gotten it. Maybe there really is a God or maybe, it's just coincidence. He steps into the shower, turning up the water. He soaps up his body and hair, rinsing out as quickly as he can. The warmth of water on his face aren't tears, he reprimands himself. He can't afford tears.

+++

"We should go north." Daryl said.

Rick looked doubtful, clutching his arm with his good hand. There was no reasonable conviction to try for north. It was risky, yes, and climate wouldn't help the situation either. It was just a hunch to try for north. Rick shook his head.

"We should get to the shore. We go east."

They fought desperately, not only walkers but _people_. He lost his brother, this time for good. Daryl didn't think of it often, but it happened in front of his eyes. Now all he had left were his people. And Rick wore an expression he couldn't describe easily. No one changed as much as Rick. Everyone changed; they had to. The only constant thing in his life was the boy, his smile and the warmth of his hand.

"We might have a better chance going north," Glenn chimed in, spreading out the map. "We're fewer and we have to get somewhere safe. I think... I mean... I trust Daryl's instinct."

There were no solid ground to fight decisions. The others didn't have the guts to come out and say what they wanted. Daryl saw it; the flickers of fright in their eyes. There was no dispute in everyone going together. It was direction they couldn't agree on.

Rick silently took it. Glenn pointed out the roads they can take, avoiding highways and big cities. He didn't look like he agreed but listened to what they had to say. He was their leader, of sorts, and made good decisions most of the time. But Rick was broken by everything that had happened.

"We need medical supplies, too." Hershel put in a word, indicating Rick's arm.

"I'm fine. Look, I think we should head east because--"

"There's nothing there." Glenn said in exasperation. "For what it's worth... There might be more survivors up north. They might be able to help us."

"After all this, you still want help from people?" Rick shouted. Daryl clamped up.

"I still have faith in humanity."

It was such a _Glenn_ thing to say. Daryl would have agreed with Rick, except for his gut telling him otherwise, and also because he believed in Glenn's assertiveness.

Rick sighed. "Fine. We head north."

+++

Daryl fixes the hood and the scarf around his face. Lack of activity and the broken down buildings have made clouds of dust. The streets have been badly designed to become wind tunnels between two rivers. Dust have no where to go but circulate around the city. If one isn't careful, he gets a mouthful of black powder at the end of the day. He covers up, breathing air through layers of fabric. The sun gets unbearable, so he has to cover up. It's freezing and he has to keep moving.

Bombs have dropped from military jets on lower Manhattan when the disease broke out. They have obliterated the distinctive skyline, leaving rubbles and burnt up corpses. When walkers were killed off and people had begun to settle in the city again, jobs had been easy to obtain. New York had become fortified by military. There are things he cannot like, but it's better than being out there. It's also better than places run by crazy men, obsession with what had used to be, and cold blooded survival tactics that didn't include everyone still living. Here, it's almost democratic. Whatever government is left (he doesn't know where the headquarter would be as he'd passed by DC, or what's left of it) does a good enough job. People are fed, people work, and there is talk of revival.

Women have a lot of work. They get jobs like cooking, sewing, watching children, to administering weapons and accounting for slowly growing population. Maggie works at the medical station. She had been studying to be in a medical field, somewhat like her father, so she knows better than most. Andrea is at the warehouse where supplies are dropped off by boat once every week. Most of the workers there are women. They are less greedy and don't seek power as some men would given the opportunity. Daryl thinks it's better this way.

For men, significantly less in numbers, there are only a limited amount of work. Most work on carpentering, rebuilding and managing living spaces. There are few who are good at mechanical things, always in demand to rebuild generators or work on the pipe systems of buildings. Most, though, go to work across the river. There are walkers to kill, people to find. Daryl had been immediately chosen as a part of a surveying team. Until they'd seen Judith, clinging unto him like her life depended on it. They had asked if she were his daughter. It had been Carl who said yes, and Daryl nodded. He'd become one of the few men living in the city, doing whatever work available.

He hunts. The city is fortified but there are walkers, still. At the beginning, he'd seen one or two each day. Now he might see one a week or none. Anywhere outside the 'village' is a red zone. He stalks through the street, finds useful things, kills a walker if there is one, and comes home at night to his small family. He is a lone hunter in a big city, discovering one block after another, picking locked gates and walking through abandoned homes. There isn't anything specific he searches for.

The thing he needs to find can never be.

+++

He finds batteries and motor parts among debris. When he lifts big broken concrete pieces, he finds wires and other useful things. He puts them into his pack. This is currency now. This will bring in other goods. It had used to be a small hardware store, and next to it is fallen books, papers under broken down walls. He scans the ground. Sheets get blown away in the wind. He finds hardcover books to still be intact. Titles he's never heard of lay under dust. He picks one, putting it into his pack. Maybe someone wants to read.

He walks a little more. The pack is heavy today. He makes his way back before it gets dark. The air feels strange. The icy scent in the wind and the cold gray clouds make Daryl cringe. It looks like snow. The first of the season. It doesn't change the job or their situation. It just reminds him of things he doesn't want to have anymore.

No. Daryl quickens his pace. He wants them more than he'll admit. He wants them because they remind him that once, he had had something good. It had been too good, almost unbelievable. His hands are raw red and tingling. They have touched a beautiful thing before, heated and soft. The almost hairless smooth skin that stretched pale over lean muscles and bones; the shiny straight thickness of hair; chapped lips the color of ripe peaches. He rubs his hands together, fixing the strap of his crossbow. He only has memories; he lives to keep them alive. He doesn't want new ones. There will be no sorrow if he dies today or the next. It is how it is. As long as he's breathing, he'll do his job, he'll let Judith sleep in the crook of his arm. But he'd died already that day. Now he is just remnants of memories.

The soles of his worn down boots hit the pavement hard. The sky is darker with all the clouds. Across the river, the big light switches off. Everyone is returning home when Daryl reaches the village.

"Find anything?" It's Andrea, hugging herself through the wind. She has a big sweater on but nothing that'll keep her warmer.

"Some parts. Maybe Fernandez or Parker can fix up them motors now." He lifts the pack, showing her the heavy loot.

She has a thin smile, and hurries to get inside the building. The walk up to the fourteenth floor seems longer today. Andrea, too, her steps slow and tired. When they pass tenth, the noises of footsteps cease. Andrea turns to him, looking forlorn. Daryl waits for her to speak up.

"There were reports today, from the bay." Andrea bites down on her lip. The bay is what people call the small military base set up across the river. It's better than saying 'army' as that doesn't quite exist anymore. "The cure isn't working anymore. About thirty or so carriers arrived within the past week, and they all died."

Her fingers drum over the railing.

"Do they turn?"

"No. They just died. They think carriers are building up immunization to the cure, which is faster than they anticipated. They want tests from survivors. They asked us to draw names randomly, a dozen men and a dozen women."

Daryl nods. "It's gonna snow."

"Yeah. Looks like it will. When they can set the boat out, they'll turn the light back on. Hopefully, after the snow..."

Daryl steps past her, going up the stairs. He wonders if Carl or Maggie's had the sense to get gas or something to burn. Andrea follows him up quietly. Daryl has his hand on the door knob. Judith is probably standing there when he opens it, having heard his footsteps.

"I reminded them about her. How she needs you. They said it'll only take a few days and you'll be back. There was nothing else I could do."

Daryl's grip tightens. His fingers sting from being out in the cold for too long. "I'm not her father."

"No, you're not."

"She'll be fine."

He twists the knob and flings the door open. Judith hugs him tight, Carl and Maggie greeting them.


	3. Chapter 03

+++

"Have I told you how beautiful you look with Judith in your arms?"

Daryl never heard anyone call him, or anyone else, 'beautiful' before. So naturally, he scoffed, shaking the little girl in his arms. They had the master bedroom to themselves, one with a fireplace. They were somewhere in the mountains between North Carolina and Virginia, maybe further west. It was wonderfully freezing. The wood burned pleasantly in ambers. Glenn was lying on his stomach over the blankets they spread out in front of the fire. The place had been stocked up; a hidden cabin in the mountains. They all got enough food, and boiled water from ice and snow. It felt like a vacation, almost. Daryl spent time putting up wires around the perimeter, with empty cans and metal pieces that clanked in the wind. He slept, too, his head resting on Glenn's legs. He was woken up by the baby, choking sounds of crying he was trying to make stop.

"Have I told you how I love you here," Glenn said sleepily, fingers touching his arm, sliding down to his hand.

It must be something he ate, Daryl thought.

"Have I told you how thankful I am to have met you?"

Daryl patted Judith's back gently. She hiccupped once, small fingers curling.

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Yeah," Daryl answered that quickly because he didn't always say it back. He never wanted to hurt him if he could, so to things like that, he spoke up. Because really, he loved him, too, as much as he didn't have the courage to say and more. Glenn looked warm, eyes closing into the arm he was using as a pillow.

"Well, I love you. I love you forever." Glenn sizzled out a laughter. "I sound so corny."

"No," Daryl said. He wanted to reply back in the same sweet voice but he could not. He felt Judith become heavy in his arm, her small mouth open, her small heart beating to the rhythm of his hand patting her back.

"I just feel like..." Glenn paused. He flipped over, shirt riding up to expose his flat pale stomach. "I feel like if I don't tell you now, I won't get to tell you at all."

"I'll still be here tomorrow."

"I want to describe how I love each and every bit of you... I want to tell you everything. I don't have the words for it. It feels..."

Daryl put Judith down on her folded blanket, covering her with her softest blue one. He finished for Glenn. "Difficult."

"Mmhmm." Glenn's eyes were shut. He needed sleep, rest and more food, if he could help it.

Daryl stretched out next to him, pulling him closer by the waist. There were many things he wanted to say, but he just watched.

"I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Tomorrow..." Glenn yawned, burying his face into his shoulder.

Daryl supposed he smiled. He looked forward to it. He didn't have to be told to know but he wanted to hear them. Perhaps, he would, too, make a list of things he loved and how much. Maybe it would be quicker to make a list of things he did not like about Glenn. Because he liked everything else but those.

He didn’t like how Glenn never made a sound or moved when he was sleeping. He would often wake from a nightmare, and have to put his ear to Glenn's chest to make sure he was breathing. He didn't like how well Glenn kissed, inexplicably jealous of everyone else who would have tasted those lips, enjoyed the tangling as much as he did. He didn't like how he smiled. If he could, he would hide him away where only he could see him, trap that daunting smile in his realm for him alone. He had to share it and he didn't like that at all. He mostly did not like how Glenn went to scavenge by himself, even after being almost killed once, twice...

The next morning, he woke alone. Glenn and Judith were gone. He panicked, grabbing his crossbow while shoving his feet into his boots. In the small kitchen, he found Beth holding Judith on her lap, feeding her. Hershel was fixing the bandage on Rick's arm. Carol was making food.

"Carl, Maggie and Tyreese are outside checking the perimeter." Rick informed him. "Andrea and Glenn went down the mountain for supplies."

Daryl grunted, receiving a plate of food from Carol. If they were planning to stay here longer, they needed things. At least, at the very least, Glenn wasn't alone.

"Well, I'm going hunting." Daryl got up from the chair. He brushed the light strands of Judith's head with his palm, asking Beth with his eyes to take care of her. She could eat solids now, sitting up by herself well.

"Daryl--" Rick started but he didn't stop him.

Daryl threw on the poncho over his head. He tightly tied his shoelaces. If there was a luxury, he wanted a new pair of boots, but he supposed it would have to wait. He checked the tension of his bow; he would need to restring it soon. He had a roll in his pack; Glenn had been thoughtful during one of his trips. The magazine of his Glock was only half full. He only carried it and didn't ever use it. When he was ready, he left the room as it was when he woke up. He walked outside, passing Carl and Maggie, trudging through inches of snow. If there were any game, it would be an easy hunt.

His mind cleared as bright white as the snow covering the mountain. His hands were numb by mid-day but he doggedly continued. By the afternoon, feeling nothing but the solid chill in his body, he returned to the camp with a brace of fat winter rabbits and his hair frozen from the snow.

He would have said everything he needed to if he had known. He hadn't known. There was shock before grief and later, regret. And there was and will always be heartache. When he opened the door, he found everyone surrounding Andrea, sobbing into her hands. Glenn's switchblade was the only thing of his that returned from the trip.

+++

Daryl wakes to knocking at the door. Ever since the day Andrea had told him about crossing over to the bay, he's had the same scene playing in his dream. Days have passed. Snow has fallen, melted, fallen some more. The world is covered in white and reminds him of that day. He presses his knuckle into his eye, to make the images of his boy disappear. They remain, always, tugging at his guts, breaking his heart again and again. Judith opens her eyes at the second round of knocking, her deep green ones similar to Lori's. She reaches up, hugging his neck, so he has to hold her while answering the door.

"Dixon," Manuel Fernandez is at the door. "Hey, man, sorry if I woke her."

"It's alright," Daryl replies, but doesn't invite him in. Judith studies the visitor, shielded by Daryl's presense.

"Just wanted to let you guys know the weather's dropping to freezing. Keep the faucet running a little so the pipes don't freeze, okay?" Fernandez is the only building maintenance person for the whole village. He'd used to be a HVAC specialist and a plumber.

"Alright."

"And uh, the light went on the bay today. I guess," Fernandez looks over Judith, her dark brown curls disheveled through sleep. Fernandez had had a little girl, just about her age. "We'll be back soon, right?"

"Can't say."

"You don't have to go. We all talked about it. It's not fair to her," his eyes run over Judith. "Or your family."

"They'll be fine." Daryl switched Judith over to his other side. He added, "We'll be back soon."

Fernandez repeats about the water and pipes. He assures him the family will be looked after. Nigel, the thickset man living two floors below with white grizzly beard and mustache had told him he'd look after them. Daryl trusts Nigel, but doesn't want to be told things that makes him think he'll not return. Conversations about saying goodbye, leaving things behind, remind him of a boy who'd disappeared. Though he doesn’t care either way, if he lives or dies. It's a lie if he says he doesn't care about Judith, Carl, Maggie, Andrea... Glenn. He's never stopped caring about them. It's himself he's thrown away, left behind in the mountains among all of his things he's abandoned in that room, untouched. He remains there, still trapped.

"I'll meet you down at the dock," Daryl says. He receives a weak smile from Fernandez. He shuts the door, wondering if he can go back to sleep. Instead, he sits on the sunken couch with Judith seated on his lap, her small head and weight over his chest. He puts his arms around her, her thin frame like her mother, her fine curls reminding him who her real father could be. He can see out the window from there. The slow motion fall of snow all around, like the last night he'd spent with him, makes his heart give a slight pull.

Five years since Atlanta. He - no - _they_ have been through so much. He feels aged and haggard, the running makes his feet ache and heaves for breath quicker. If Glenn were alive, he'd be over thirty. He would still be running all over the place, doing all the little work he can, playing with Judith to make her giggle like when she'd been smaller, making funny faces that had made Daryl laugh along, too. The giant flood light across the wide river is turned on, blinking from the cold or the wind. The boat will come when it can and he'll cross. He'll do whatever they wish of him, and survive, as he always does, and come back home to this.

Judith shifts a little. Daryl is glad for her warmth because the rooms can't always be kept. It blocks out wind but doesn't keep out the cold. Daryl looks down at her. He realizes just then the front of his shirt is wet. Judith is biting down on her thumbnail, the same habit as his.

He is surprised by her small uttering. "Daddy."

+++

He has replaced her weight with weapons. Maggie refuses to look at him but packs him food for the trip and a small medical kit. Judith wails for a while but becomes calmer in Carl's embrace. He can see the boat now, slowly wading into the port. Andrea wraps a big scarf around her shoulders.

"See you soon, Lil' Ass-kicker."

She gulps back her sobbing. Carl nods at him. "Take care of them."

"I will." He's now all grown up. They can look at each other's faces on level.

He calls Maggie over. She swipes her face with her hands before turning around. She gives him a smile rather than a tearful farewell. Of course; he'll be back soon. He hands her the book he'd found in the rubble.

"Don't know if it's good, but there you go."

She doesn't answer but hugs the hardbound to her stomach.

He closes the door behind him.

+++

The men and women wait, huddled in few groups to keep warm. There are big metal trash cans burning wood. Daryl stands there, hand clasping the strap of his crossbow. He studies each person. They each have their own stories, people they've learned to rely on, people who rely on them, and a new job across the wide river. Andrea comes over with a chart of the names of people. She hands him a package. He can feel it without opening it.

"You'll need it. It's fully loaded. There are some extra ammo."

Daryl puts it into his bag. The boat is near, turning over the waves to dock.

"Listen. I don't know what it is, and I'm sorry. They asked specifically for you, for a few of these men. I don't think their excuse is legitimate, but that's what I got. That's what I have told everyone. Be careful, okay?"

"I already know."

"I figured you would. You and your gut instinct brought us this far. Thank you, if I've never told you."

Daryl nods at her, sparing her his half-smile. "Keep a good look out. If the boat stops coming, if supplies are cut off, you watch out for all the people. If you have to, there is a church you can go to on 5th avenue."

"Daryl--"

"There's a priest there. You take them and go if you have to. I'll find you. And keep your gun on you."

"I always do."

Daryl has to smile at her. The boat is docked and a platform is set up. They're unloading supplies.

"Daryl, I'm sorry about... what happened at... the mountain cabin."

"Weren't your fault."

"No. It is." Andrea adjusts the scarf around her. "I could have... I should have told you the truth. I was... I was scared. I thought maybe... He was crying out my name... I left him."

The smile falters. A soldier jumps off the boat. He calls for Andrea.

"That, I didn't know." Daryl says. It's done. It's over. He's still dead and he's been dead with him. Nothing can change the past like how he can't see the future. The damage has been done for too many cold nights. "But I don't blame you. Now you go and do your job."

"I'm sorry."

"You keep my Lil' Ass-kicker safe. Do that for me and we'll call it even."


	4. Chapter 04

+++

The boat ride is rougher than Daryl likes. The initial queasiness does not fade but he hides it. He adjusts the scarf over his mouth. All the people keep to themselves, still and quiet. Fernandez sticks with him, so does Parker. But they keep quiet, maybe thinking about this situation and their families they've left behind.

The boat just seems to float but it makes a slow way over the river. He can see a bridge closer from here, the middle collapsed with skeletons of steel gnarled and mangled. There are cars still up there, unmoving and trapped. No one had been allowed and no one had volunteered to go up on the bridges. Snow lands on everything. It's serene except for the uneasiness among the people in the boat, the grinding sound of the motor, and a squawking gull flying too close to the boat.

Daryl is mentally prepared but the unknown is more frightening than hunting through broken structures. Behind closed eyes, he draws out the sweetest smile he'd ever known. The eyes had been the darkest brown. There had been light in them. The wide full mouth had held him still, turned Daryl's entire world upside down, inside out. Had there been singing? Whispering husky voice, higher pitched, full of air, had sung him a song. He tries to draw out the rest, but they've faded. They fade, every day, and the ache at his chest is the gold ring over his chest. Rings.

Daryl pulls them out, studying the gold carefully. His hidden mouth flickers up, remembering the trembling fingers that slipped it over his finger. He knows he'd been shaking, too. It had been too precious and wrenched his heart.

"That from the missus?" Parker asks, getting too close in his personal space. No one knows about them, and he doesn't like being asked. He nods, putting them back inside his shirt. "What was she like then?"

Daryl spares a look at Parker, a small man with a thick foreign accent he can only place as England or Ireland. His skinny frame gives people the wrong impression but he's tough; tough enough to have survived through the years practically all alone. But he's one of the few people he trusts, just by his instincts. The ever-green eyes are large under his long waving hair. It's the eyes that Daryl trusts, so he looks into them.

"Mine." Daryl answers. Parker is quick to understand the short answer. Daryl gets a wide lopsided smile. He doesn't want to talk further, and he doesn't ask anymore.

Yes, _mine_. That is the truth forever. Just like the inscription inside both rings he's confirmed. A token from an angel, really, to remind him he's not alone at all. The gold is warmed from his skin, laying gently against. The boat is halfway across. There is still so much to do, so much road to cover.

+++

Daryl threw everything into his pack. His things. Glenn made a mess of his belongings the previous night looking for something. The red swivel case caught his eyes on the floor next to where they'd slept. Glenn looked for that and gave him what he had not suspected. He looked down at his left hand, having forgotten about its presence. It shimmered and choked him. He slid it off his finger, clenching his fist around it. He can toss it, he would; he should. His lip quivered, making him bite down to make it stop. The room became blurry. He willed himself to hurry up, pack and leave.

He picked up the red swivel case, replacing the ring inside. He wanted to leave it there, but he could not. It went into the deepest part of his pack, closed tightly. He went out, leaving Glenn behind.

It was reckless to drive the motorcycle, but he wasn't thinking straight. No one tried to stop him as he followed the truck driving down to Andrea's direction. The bumpy road down the mountain side gave him pain. The cold air hurt his lungs. Perhaps, it's at the fact of knowing he might have lost something more valuable than anything he ever had in his life that froze and cracked his insides. Soon, they were driving on snow covered road, following tire tracks.

Even a child could track in this weather, Daryl realized. They had been naïve to believe they were alone around here. He saw the jumble of footsteps at the town, tire tracks and the slow step-drag of walkers. He knew which ones belonged to Glenn without having to be told what went on. He held his crossbow in ready position, stepping carefully into the small food mart where it all went down, according to Andrea. It was empty inside, no human or walker. The rest of the buildings gave him no explanation. Glenn's steps just disappeared at the corner of the mart. There was no trace of him after. There was, however, blood splattered on the wall. And that was enough. It was enough.

He didn't get angry. He didn't tear up. He didn't scream or shout. He simply took a deep breath, let it out little by little. He told Rick and Carl they should take whatever they could, though there weren't much left. He tried the storage, found a pound of flour and old rat traps. As soon as everyone was ready, they left the town, heading north. He didn't utter a word about it; no one else said anything.

After a few days of moving slowly through melting snow, finding roads, they arrived at a relatively larger town. There was barely enough, but they stocked up on whatever they could. It was there they first heard the crackling radio signals. At first, Rick didn't talk about it because he thought he was hallucinating again, like back at the prison. But Carl insisted he heard it too. They moved on north east, their caravan moving slowly.

And no one talked about what happened back at the cabin. No one mentioned Glenn's name. Daryl left him behind, all of him, back at the serene mountain side where they'd spent their last night. Together. He left himself behind, too. The only thing that moved him, he left behind. All the things he loved about his boy, he left. All the things he never said, never could say, and all the regrets that pained him, he left.

They saw a road sign for Richmond. First there was a doubt, but the crackling came over the radio again. It could have been anything but this time lasted longer. It wasn't as cold anymore, snow all melted and the daylight getting longer. They found a house behind fences and gates, hid inside for weeks. Hershel ran a fever during the travel. He didn't make it and they buried him in the yard. Maggie and Beth took it hard but they moved on. It was spring by then and they met their first group of lively walkers, bone thin and dark rotting skin, mouths still snapping for fresh skin. The thing Daryl noticed, no matter how much the walkers ate, they still deteriorated, decayed. They had instinct to claw at the living, but it wasn't nutrition they needed. They filled their stomachs, but the organs were dead already. Whatever they ate just rotted inside with them. But as long as their legs moved, or could crawl over the ground, they tried to feed. They had less strength in the new spring. That was a good thing; but they were still running out of bullets.

They neared Richmond, finding the city not so full of walkers. They migrated, for some reason, probably at sounds hinting at food. There were stray ones roaming around the city. It wasn't safe but he and Maggie went in to find food. Daryl could starve but the little girl could not. She was too skinny, good at walking by herself now, but being born into this world, she was quiet and slept most of the time. It was a gamble but they fought their way into the larger market. They grabbed whatever canned goods, anything dry they can still make into food. Daryl cleaned the powdered milk off the shelf into his pack. There was no time to try at anything else. He lost an arrow, having no chance to retrieve it from the skull of the felled walker. Maggie swung her machete at a walker's head. He stabbed through the base of the skull, a quick and sure way to take down one at close range. They made it out, legs burning from running with heavy loot. The truck started loudly. They got back to their temporary camp, taking round about roads to thwart off walkers.

Another year went like that, circling large cities, going in for supplies when necessary, finding towns, killing walkers. They met people, too, but they separated after sharing whatever they could. Karma, Daryl thought, the people they met on the road were still good people. They were smart, too, finding ways to hide rather than trying fight what they could not. It started happening then: when he held Judith, who clung hard to his neck or the collars of his shirt, people thought he was her father. He never bothered correcting their mistakes, only holding her up. She was getting taller by the day, long limbs already apparent with wavy brown hair like her mother.

Rick took care of her, like he took care of everyone else, but he never held her anymore. Perhaps she reminded him of Lori. Perhaps he knew she wasn't his. Whatever the case, it was around then the inner demons played their games with Rick. He took off in one of their cars one day. Daryl and Tyreese found the car three days later, crashed into a tree on the side of a road. No sign of the driver. But the Python was on the seat, left there with a single bullet in the barrel.

The crackling didn't stop as they inched their way up north. It was harder, the autumn and winter harsher than what they were used to in the milder south. In the frozen winter, they found themselves in the woods, winding roads and thick evergreens. Somewhere in the Appalachians, West Virginia or Pennsylvania, they spend the winter. It wasn't Georgia, but Daryl knew woods. There were plenty of doe to shoot for food. They burnt wood for fuel and had a source for water. He saw a track for bear, once, but didn't push further. Not because he was scared. Something inside told him to turn away.

That winter, he wore his ring again. He wanted to restring his bow. He found the red swivel box at the bottom of his things. Wearing it on his finger didn't feel enough. He put it on string, tying around his neck. (He later found the ball-chain necklace to replace the string.) It felt closer, near his heart, and he felt peace for awhile as the winter lasted.

Beth died that winter in her sister's arms. It wasn't to a walker or sickness; her heart was broken, having lost the will to keep on living. She gave up one cold night. Carl made a wreath of evergreens to place at her grave.

And they moved on. They rested when necessary, ate food, hunted and scavenged, met strangers, fought off thinner walkers, drove through empty towns and cities, road signs fading as much as they felt like. Then they heard the radio signal, after passing large signs for Philadelphia to north.

"If there are--survivors--at-- _crackle_ \--York--re--t---New--rk--have---cure--Repeat--g---"

There was only one place to go.

+++

Daryl looks up at the tall light house, once practical, once just a standing monument where kids hung out and spray-painted graffiti on the round walls, and once again imperative to their lives. Its winding metal staircase takes ten minutes to climb at normal speed. It takes gallons of fuel to power up the generators to make it flicker. They use it once a week, to signal across the river to the island of the boat's departure. It stands with a heavy lock over the entrance. He follows the big eye of the light to the city, the jagged teeth-like architecture a heavy grey against the lighter grey of the sky. He'd seen it in awe when they'd first got here. Now it feels like home; he can't stand to part from it.

They are lead to one of the warehouses the military uses. The base looks more fortified than when he'd been here not too long ago. Heavy chain fences guard the big base, with Humvees and other vehicles lined up in the cleared lot. The warehouses had been for parking expansive motor boats. Now it's an organized space, separated into sections. They go into the medical half of the warehouse. Daryl remembers this part well; he'd stayed here the first few nights. Back then, there were a few scientist types with temporary set up, administering the 'cure' for the newly arrived. Now it's a fully stocked space with operating tables and bright lights. Daryl feels filthy just standing there surrounded by pristine cloths and aseptic supplies. He pushes the scarf down his face, taking in the smell of disinfectants and isopropyl alcohol.

They sit in the foldable chairs all ready and counted. Three men appear soon. Two are doctors, with lab coats over casual jeans and shirts. One of them Daryl recognizes, the other one, he does not. The third is the man in charge of the small military set up, Major M--something. He has a cat-like smile, sharp eyes and hairline receding, always with an expression like he knows what everyone is thinking at the moment. Daryl doesn't like him, and it's apparent; the Major wants him on this side of the river permanently.

The familiar doctor, Aubrey, is an old man with all white hair. He reminds Daryl of Hershel, except he has a crisp northerner's accent and he's lean, almost too lean. He has steady warm hands and perform surgeries well. The other introduces himself, his soft spoken words relaxing, as Edmunds. He says he's not a medical doctor, but is a biophysicists, working with the few left in the whole United States to make and better the 'cure'. He is tall with straight parted cropped hair. Daryl listens to the explanation about the 'cure' and how it fights the infection.

It is a microbial infection. Hearing it has confirmed it. Now they fight it, just as the human race has always done, be it through divine intervention, natural selection or the development of science.

Edmunds points to a cart behind him. "We need blood and tissue samples from those who have been administered the antibacterial medications we developed at the second stage."

"Second stage?" A woman speaks up.

"The first stage was a failure. As you all know, the initial break out spread too rapidly to contain it. By the time all the researchers got to the emergency rendezvous point, the microbe have developed immunity to the medication. There wasn't enough scientists and correct samples took time to gather. When we had the medications made, there weren't... You were all given the cure during the second stage. It took long to find people. Now we're going on to third stage and we can work faster. We are very appreciative of this cooperation."

Daryl sighs to himself. Everyone had worried for no reason. They will all give blood and whatever else the doctor needs and will be sent back. He sits back into the chair, thinking about nothing in particular, and then everything, about what Edmunds said and didn't. The first to go had been the women. They were to give their information, how long ago they had been given the cure, a few pieces of hair, a few scrapes of epidermis, a needle to the vein on the arm and three vials of blood. The two doctors are quick, working with efficiency. Next are the men. Daryl watches the doctors. He fidgets in the chair waiting for his turn. He wants this to go faster. Parker goes up to the scientist. A minute later, it's Fernandez's turn with Dr. Aubrey. Next would be Daryl.

Aubrey is quicker with his people. Daryl's eyebrows cringe. He's taking long with Fernandez. Parker is finished so Daryl goes up to Edmunds. He watches the scientist change his gloves. He turns the piece of paper over, filling out numbers and some of the lines. Daryl finds the Major staring at him. Of course. He will probably have to speak with him when this is over.

"Your name?" The scientist asks.

"Daryl. Dixon." He answers all the other questions. He folds up the shirt sleeve. Edmunds takes his samples. The needle sinks into his skin. The first drop of blood seeping out of his vein stings crimson but fills the vial quickly.

"Mr. Dixon. Would you look over this information to make sure they are correct?" The scientist turns the clipboard. He scans through the handwriting.

"Yeah. Seems about right."

"What about," he points with his pen. "Here?"

Daryl clenches his fist tighter. The blood trickling out of him seems darker, feels thicker.

"Yeah. Yeah, looks good."

"Great. We're all done here. Thank you for your contribution."

Daryl takes the folding chair like before. He presses hard on the piece of gauze over his arm. He looks at the two men next to him. Fernandez is looking straight ahead. Parker is looking down at his feet. Perhaps they don't know. Maybe it's only him. Just as he's known, the Major calls him to 'speak alone'. Daryl nods and takes his time at fixing his sleeve and gathering his belongings. He has a slight headache and a hint of nausea at the back of his throat. It is not from the loss of blood. It is the message written in between the lines of Edmund's paperwork.

'You're in danger. I am to get you out. Tonight at six behind the red truck in the lot. 012 is looking for you.'


	5. Chapter 05

+++

For the pint of blood, they are given a feast. At least it feels like a feast. Everyone eats, food piled onto plates but they all look anxious to get back across the river. Parker picks at the food on his plate, only drinking the apple juice they have been given. Fernandez, too, looking to the sides to the few soldiers by the exit.

"What did the Major want?" Parker asks him. His voice is low. Fernandez seems interested in the answer as well.

"If I would stay here." Daryl only summarizes. The Major had explained the need of him here. Needing someone who can survive among whatever could be out there.

"What did you answer?" Fernandez asks.

Daryl forks the meat. He doesn't refuse food when it is given. Especially now. _012._ It could be just a coincidence but it sparks up the instinctual part of his body too sharply to ignore it. There hadn't been time to ask questions and there had been too many eyes and ears. If it is what and who he thinks it is, then he has to move, act according to his guts. He chews the food carefully, swallowing it down with the sour juice.

"I told him I'll think about it."

Parker's eyes flicker up at him, mouth parting in disbelief. Fernandez nods. There is no time to continue their conversation here. A soldier enters the cafeteria, announcing that the boat will take them back tomorrow. The weather is bad, snow fall too heavy. They will stay in the trailers. Outside, it is all white, thick flakes covering up everything gray. It's hard to see across the river. The small part of the city where people sleep in the village is dark, blackouts up or lights all out to conserve energy for heat. Daryl briefly wonders if he'll get to see his family again.

The trailers are lined up housing soldiers and workers. They also have been temporary rooms for them when they first arrived here. There are cots lined up inside. Daryl fixes the fall of coat around his shoulders, throwing the hood over his head. There is only a small battery powered lamp to light up the inside. There is no clock. It's dark and there is no moon out tonight. He'll just have to wait if it isn't too late already.

Parker stops in the middle of his pacing. He watches Daryl ready his bow. He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder, zipping up his parka.

"I don't know what it is, but I'm coming too. I only have a gun, but I can't just sit around here waiting for whatever that is going to happen."

Daryl doesn't stop him. He turns to Fernandez.

"Whatever happens, I'll take care of your family and your little girl. Go on, Dixon."

He pulls up the thick fabric wrapped around his neck, to hide the trusting smile he can't stop.

+++

Daryl breathes shallowly, laying still and flat on his stomach. There is nothing to grip but he manages.

Snow had covered up their footsteps quicker than he'd calculated. After waiting about half an hour with Parker shivering next to him, the scientist had appeared with two metal cases in both arms. He had opened up the back of the truck, taking care to pack them gently, tying them down. The big four-by-four had the back seats taken out, filled with equipment and cases, probably scientific materials.

Edmunds had not asked about Parker. He simply had said, "We don't have much time here for explanations I'm afraid."

There had been a pre-made space where a man could lie down, hide beneath a metal covering. It had looked as if it had been readied for him. Daryl had jumped in without a word, making himself as small as possible. His bow, the doctor had hid under some tarp. Just before setting the lid back, the scientist had commented, "There are military on the road I'm planning to take, so you'll have to be down here for the whole of the trip I'm afraid. It isn't too long. I'll let you out as soon as I can for some air."

Everything else had been muffled sounds and vibrating floor underneath after that. There had been no time to ask questions either. Edmunds had looked at Parker as if he'd anticipated this. There had been sound of two doors shutting. They would be searching for him; not anyone else.

Though he can't hear, he feels the gates opening, the truck pulling away over bumpy roads. He's hidden well and hopefully, they will be miles away when they realize he is gone. He's experienced enough people before this life and through this one to know when a person has an ulterior agenda running through the brain. The Major has the same dangerous glint in his eyes. He's warned Andrea and hopes she will do as he's said. He doesn't believe in God, never has nor has he needed it; now he sends a little prayer. As much as he trusts the few people in his life, he can't be in two places at once, ' _So just this once, send a little help_.'

+++

Glenn laughed at him and he swore he would never speak his thoughts again. Glenn's body slide around beside him, heated and slippery from the sweat and other body fluids on his skin. It didn't gross him out. It was all his; him and everything about it. Daryl sulked and it made Glenn laugh more. After wiping the tears collected at the ends of his eyes, Glenn stopped, just looking at him.

"No. I don't believe that God did this. I don't believe God would punish his creatures like this, but it's frightening, yes. I am scared all the time..." Glenn put a gentle hand over his chest, where his heart still pounded hard. "What I do believe in is this."

Daryl held the hand, fatigue finally taking over his spent body.

"It's probably like the Black Plague or something. There's more population now obviously so it'll feel like it's affected more, it spreads aggressively, but percentage wise, it's probably like the Plague. There'll be people working on a cure. Even if the one CDC blew up in our faces, I'm sure there are people still working to beat this."

"I wish your optimism is as contagious as whatever this is."

"Yeah. But like Rick said, 'We're all infected.' And if it's only some kind of infection, there will be a countermeasure. Only time..." Glenn yawned. "We just have to keep living and searching and wait for it."

"I don't know what I would be without you."

" _If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it._ "

Daryl ran his fingers through the damp hair, cooled from the winter air.

" _So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable..._ "

Glenn's eyes closed, the heart wrenching eyelashes fluttering, so Daryl ceased trying to stay awake, wrapping his body around him.

"I stole that one off the library shelf. They had five copies anyway. Didn't matter much." Glenn kept his eyes shut, mumbling on about the library. Daryl laid a kiss against Glenn's temple, who sighed at it, sinking heavily into sleep.

"Am I your Linton or Heathcliff then?" That made Glenn's look at him in surprise. A flick of a smile. But he didn't get an answer.

+++

Daryl wakes to the noise of the metal top being removed. His legs protest but he isn't tired anymore. It's still dark, still snowing. The roads are covered white; the only thing to guide are the rusting railings around the sides. The car is parked with the headlights off in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods. Daryl stretches his limbs, taking a good long breath of cold wood laced scent. He has to admit, he's missed the woods, the familiarity of what he's known his entire life. The strength one knows of trees, of the deep untilled earth, of the creatures living inside it, the trickling waters and the source it flows from...

Parker is still there after all and hands him a bottled water. His face seems relaxed, as does his body.

Edmunds explains. "We have to get going soon, if we want to reach the research center before they figure out how you got out. We'll take a break though."

"What did you mean by 'danger'?"

"I suppose I wrote that to get your attention, mostly. But, it's the people on Manhattan island who are in danger." Before Daryl surges with anger, the scientist continues. "Military are more numerous than you think. They had to have themselves cured and organized first before getting to civilians. There is no government anymore. DC is wiped out. No more politicians running the country. Only guns and heavy artillery."

"They want to take Manhattan?"

"You really are very quick, like he said you would be. Yes. They want to take Manhattan as it has been deemed safe and everyone there are not infected. When they take over, the people there won't have anywhere else to go. They need to get out before any harm is done to them."

"You telling me this here miles away from there won't help the situation!"

"Dr. Aubrey will take care of it. And Major Moore. They will get the people out."

"The Major?"

"He's already begun his plan. Trust. Let's get back on the road. There are soldiers at the bay who aren't on the same sides as us."

Daryl got back inside the car, but didn’t have to be locked up yet. 

"What about Parker?"

"I needed an extra driver if I wanted to get those to the lab as soon as possible."

"So it's real? The cure isn't working anymore?"

"Yes. That part is real. This... microbe regenerates and evolves quicker than any other ones we have on record. I understand you learned how it affects the dead at the Atlanta CDC?"

"Yeah." If he knows that, then it must be real.

"I suppose you want an explanation about 012. He's one of the few we have."

"Of?"

"Immunity. Naturally, of course. It was our luck he found us."

"Immune to the infection?"

"Yes. There are seven of them all together. For now. We're still searching. They are what helped us develop the second stage cure."

Daryl bites down on his lip. The truck rumbles on at a painfully slow pace through the snow.

"What would they want with me?"

"I don't know what the military wants with you. But Moore wanted your help to get the people out. I told him about 012. Manuel Fernandez is a good man, I hear."

"Yeah."

The questions don't have answers. He doesn't ask. He trusts Fernandez to get the people out. Andrea and Maggie and Carl are there; they'll keep Judith safe. Right now, his head is filled with Glenn. There are so many answers he wants. He'll just have to wait, though it burns him.

+++

Parker and Edmunds have taken turns at driving. Daryl for most part had remained hidden. He doesn't like the feeling of being in a box, like being trapped in a coffin, but he must if he wants answers. He thinks mostly about him, about Glenn. He thinks about the girls, Carl, and Lil' Ass-kicker. He thinks about his neighbors, the good ones and the bad ones. He also has the time to think about Merle, Rick, Hershel, the ones who felt real and then died. After tormenting hours, days, he finds the truck rolling to a stop, scraping noises all around, vibrating and reverberating inside the metal surrounding him. The truck moves some more and then stops, the engine turning off. The lid is removed over Daryl. He finds the bright light of the orange sun behind clouds. Snow has stopped but they are knee deep. They are up in a mountain.

"Welcome, Daryl, to the last facility remaining on this side of the world to try to save it."

Next hours come in slow motion. The building only has two floors, not very impressive at all. The lot's surrounding walls are high and thick with barbed wires all around the top. There are no watch towers. Tall trees outline the walls and the gate is solid metal. It looks like a well-guarded house, not a medical science facility. He understands a lot more when they take the elevator down deep into the underground. Edmunds explains the place is run mostly by solar and wind energy. They have gasoline as back up, but haven't had to use it yet. The pristine interior reminds him of the snow outside. The scientist says this had been a privately owned research lab; now they use it to try to save the human race.

He has to be 'disinfected'. The three men go through showers, a series of chemical spray, and given clothes. The process take longer than he likes, but he does as told. Daryl is lead to a room where he's surprised to see his crossbow and pack, though he doesn't need them here. He puts the chain back over his head, the rings clinking together.

The next moment, his heart races in anticipation. The scientist takes him and Parker down a long corridor, explaining the rooms. Daryl doesn't hear any of this. They stop in front of a white door. The brightness of the room makes him dizzy. Edmunds holds the door open, letting Daryl through first. His body lacks air; he has to will himself to breathe. He sees the back of a figure, slimmer, maybe because he can't see very well at this moment. The jet black hair is grown down past the shoulders. There is a white tee shirt, a little loose over the thin frame. The figure is sitting on a tall stool. There are others, standing or sitting. There is conversation but everything is muted to Daryl. The figure turns at the sound of the door and the people looking up his way. The moment stands still, the intake and release of air is loud in his ears. The warmth, his body remembers instantly. Arms wrap around his neck. His hands remember the feel of smooth skin, pulling him in with all he has.

"Daryl--" The voice makes his throat dry. He has to look again, touch again, over and over again to decipher if this is a dream or an imagination. Then the husky whisper is in his ear again. "Daryl."

His muscles remember the weight. His nose remembers the scent of this skin. His chest remembers the identical rhythm of the other.

"Glenn?" He doesn't know if he's spoken it out loud. His head remembers the face. His eyes remember the smile; the curl of his lips, the tremble in them, the sigh held in them. His mouth remembers the kiss. This is real. This he can't have in a dream. This is real. His knees give out and fall to the floor, taking the boy in his arms down with him. It doesn't matter who's looking. He's found the light of his life again. This must be heaven. He sinks into Glenn, so, ever so achingly real in his embrace. 

"I found you again--" Glenn retains his voice where he does not. "I have you again."

Daryl can only nod, still trying to believe this because he cannot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines are from Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights.


	6. Chapter 06

+++

Daryl volunteered to be first. They were all so frightened. They had every reason to be; people were dangerous, even more than walkers and the infection. The military set-up was small but everyone was armed. He saw the women shake visibly, Carl clutching his sister tightly. He put his arm out to the doctor. He cleaned his skin with an alcohol dampened pad. The syringe was filled with liquid medication.

"There will be side effects."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement, and did not ask further. It stung; burned. Whatever the medication could be pinched into his body, Daryl had a hard time holding back the wince. Tyrese was next. Out of the women, Carol took the seat first before the others. She was always optimistic and believed that one day, there will be a cure. Andrea and Maggie got their shots. Carl sat bravely, but his other hand clutched the hem of his jeans tightly. Daryl held Judith as she begun to whimper and then wail.

"You'll have to take shelter for the night. Tomorrow, you'll get the second dosage. If the side effects don't appear tonight, then there won't be any."

"How many people got the cure?" Maggie asked.

"There are a few hundred. They've either gone out back, or joined some of the recruiting units to find people. Some of them are across the river, in the city."

They were lead to a warm trailer, with cots and blankets. They were given food, hot and ready to be devoured. It was the first time since the mountain cabin that Daryl slept, his arms full with a little girl, scratchy military blanket covering them. When he woke up the next day, there was an eerie silence throughout the trailer, the small base. Judith was already up, but she was a quiet toddler. He held her the entire morning, waiting for the others to wake. Everyone did, but Carol and Tyrese. Death was the side effect. He must have known it; his innate instinct. It felt a little like the morning he woke up without Glenn for the first time, something he couldn't pick through, out of place, and the dreadful helplessness he couldn't shake.

Dr. Aubrey arrived to gather them. His reaction was that it was expected. He examined the bodies lying still in their cots. Daryl wished he could cry, express the sadness in him as much as the others were doing. But tears don't bring the dead back. He had his people to take care of, he had sworn to an empty bedside he would never lose someone if he could help it anymore. He followed the doctor, eyeing the others to do the same. He didn't have to speak to Carl about it. He took Maggie and Andrea's hands, even though he couldn't stop the drops of tears from falling out of his eyes.

Aubrey explained wearily, "If I had told you of the side effect, would you have taken the cure?"

Daryl shook his head. He understood the intention. Maybe, pushing aside all those morality questions, it really was better this way. They probably felt no pain, spent no waking minutes of lying in bed worrying, and they didn't rise again from the dead.

"I lost my wife and my son to the cure. All those days after surviving the living dead, the corrupt, I lost them to the one thing I thought would end all of this." The doctor sighed.

"Are you angry?"

"I don't think I can be. Not because I'm still alive. But because I feel like there is nothing left to fight for."

"I know what that feels like."

"You still have your children, your family."

"They're not my family," Daryl paused, "Not in that way."

The doctor looked at him in the eyes for the first time. He spared him a tired smile.

"Will the second dosage kill us?"

"I've not seen that yet. I think it's safe to say that it doesn't."

"Where did they make the cure? The CDC in Atlanta crumbled, to say the least. We were there. The doctor there told us that everyone stopped, ran out of fuel."

"A facility in the mountains. They run on alternative fuel, as others should have done as well, but they found the cure." Dr. Aubrey stopped him in his track. He looked around for stray ears. His voice dropped. "Go stay in the city. Say she is your daughter and cannot volunteer for the recruiting teams. They say it's for finding the living, but I feel there are other motives behind what they're doing. The city won't be a permanent place but it'll be safe for awhile. Trust your instinct that has kept you alive all this time."

Daryl nodded, though he was taken back by how much the old doctor figured out about him. His gut told him to trust him, even if his head wanted more information and facts.

"Carol and Tyrese..." Daryl gulped back. "We bury the dead."

"Understood."

+++

Daryl is startled awake in the darkness. There is weight over his arm. Never in the years living in the little apartment, has it ever been this dark. He is momentarily shocked, trying to pull his arm away, the weight over his stomach. He feels the creature move beside him. It's too big to be Judith. It's a nightmare he's stuck in, and can't move his limbs. Orange light floods his vision. He is blinded.

A face he doesn't believe in appears. A voice coaxes him, calling his name.

"Daryl... Daryl."

He grabs the face, ready to crush it if necessary between his hands. Whatever has summoned this demon out of him, this nightmare to come into the reality, if it indeed is one, he'll fight. He'll win.

"Daryl!!"

He's staring at the face. Eyebrows scrunched at the center, expressing the pain. The dark eyes, large from the surprise of his hands, scream at him like so many times he'd faced them in rage. The mouth calls his name, the sweet puckered lips that have called him like no one else has ever said his name. He can't believe it. His dreams have a way of torturing him, but this is new.

Then he remembers. He's escaped New York under clever pretenses and help. He's gotten to the facility that makes the cure. The cure has come from those few people who are naturally immune to the disease. And one of them is Glenn, still so very much alive, so warm, still the same. His hands fall. Glenn takes them in his, holding them together.

"Do you have nightmares?"

"All the time."

Soft lips kiss his, soothing him, chasing the awful dreams away.

"I still can't believe you're here, alive."

"And I can't believe I found you. I found you again."

Glenn's arms wrap around his neck, and Daryl takes his weight into him.

The day comes back, spent in awe. Glenn's laughter, his tears are the heaviest parts of it. Holding the man he loves in his arms like this makes him realize that this is not a dream. It is real. He's here. Glenn's here. His story of his survival, of living inside this facility is real. He breathes in Glenn deeply. He's never smelled this clean according to his memory. But neither has he. They are different; they are still the same, but different. Not because they've been apart for so long, but because they have been living in each other's memories all this time. _He is me, and I am he._

But there is another life Daryl has been living. He has to be there for them, as well. Glenn can read his thoughts better than he can. His voice is muffled against his shoulder.

"You'll go back, won't you?"

"I have to."

"I want to go with you, but..."

"I know."

Glenn cups his face. Daryl gives him his best smile.

"Remember when I told you I would pay everyone back? Well, I think... that maybe... I survived because of _this_ and in my own way, I'm paying back for all the things I've done."

Daryl nods.

"But I've become a commodity. They still can't make the cure without our blood. I don't think I'm capable of saving the world, but I want to be a part of this."

Daryl takes the lengthy hair fallen over Glenn's eye, pushing them back, watches them fall forward, pushes them back again.

"I want you to stay here with me. But I know you'll go anyway. So... bring them back. We can take a few more people. I miss them, too. Bring them back here."

Daryl pulls Glenn close, his embrace tight.

"It means for you to come back to me as well."

"I promise."

Daryl reaches inside his shirt, pulling out the necklace. Glenn's eyes become impossibly large, recognizing.

"I thought I lost that..."

Daryl breaks the chain, taking the round gold ring. It still fits perfectly over Glenn's finger, and he remembers this. Glenn slips the other over his finger. Just as Glenn's eyes are filled with tears, Daryl knows his are as well. He holds the lithe body against him, absorbing the warmth he had thought he lost, the tempo of breathing he'd thought he would never hear again.

"I love you, Daryl." Glenn's lips graze his shoulder. "I shouldn't have waited to tell you that night. I love you now. I love everything about you..."

And Daryl repeats it to him. There are no other words he wants to say.

+++

Glenn stands by the elevator. He says he can't exit the building. He smiles up at him, trying to hide his emotions, but his hand is clutching Daryl's sleeve tightly. Daryl thumbs Glenn's cheek, following an invisible line down to the pouty mouth. He kisses his temple, breathes him in, and boards the elevator. He doesn't speak or tell him the proper things. He'll come back to Glenn, even if it is the last thing he does. He gives him half a smile as the doors slide shut.

Parker is in the empty lobby with Edmunds. The scientist won't go back. Parker will drive most of the way, though he has a map that charts the road back. It doesn't seem far but Daryl feels the pang of leaving this behind. It feels empty, his arms, without Glenn. He shakes Edmund's offered hand and walks out to the parking lot.

The red truck has been topped off and there is nothing to hinder their drive back to New York, other than the possible walkers and maybe military forces. The sun is rising. Daryl checks the magazine of his pistol just because there is nothing else to do, sitting in the passenger side, other than staring out into the vast white of the fallen snow in the mountain side.

Parker is rather silent. He doesn't ask questions about Glenn, which is good. Daryl glimpses over at Parker, his unruly mop of wavy brown hair, the tight grip of his thin hands on the steering wheel. The mountain doesn't just end, but they are now driving over even roads. Snow reflects the sunlight, making him dizzy from the over-exposure. Daryl pulls the scarf down from his mouth to take a drink of water. He offers the bottle to Parker who takes it gratefully.

"You want me to drive?" Daryl asks.

"Nah. I'll be alright for awhile. I got to sleep well last night," Parker pauses. "You probably haven't."

Daryl flinches a little. But it's true. Daryl bites down on his cheeks, contemplating. He changes the subject. "Why did you help me?"

Parker spares a second to look at him. His eyes are more grey than green with so much light. He wears a thin smile. "I didn't."

Daryl waits at the puzzling answer.

"I didn't do it to help you. I did it to help myself. I wasn't entirely sure, but I thought something was off ever since I got to the island."

Daryl agrees with a grunt.

"It was the first chance I had to get out of the city. To get away from all the bullshit those military chaps tried to feed us. I'm not stupid. I didn't survive five years of an apocalypse being naïve enough to believe there are people organizing to help others. I saw it too many times. There was only selfish greed left with the filth of the risen dead. I did it to save myself. But then," Parker bursts in to weak laughter. "But then when I heard you were going back for your family... I knew I had to help."

"Thanks." Daryl finds himself spinning the ring around his finger.

"I believe... We're all sort of connected to one another. Things happen for a reason. They are far beyond what we know and see. I met you for a reason, and I met Edmunds for a reason. You met Glenn for a reason and you met your family for a reason. We have done things we're not proud of before... We're alive now. I see what's good still left in this world embodied in you. So I'm putting my life and trust into what you're going to do. I can't change what's past but..." Parker trails off.

Daryl finishes the thought. "It's like God wants us to fix what we've done wrong."

Parker bites his thumbnail in thought. The road becomes winding so the truck slows down.

"Yeah." Parker says after a long time. "Yeah. Like God has given us a second chance."

The scenery is bright, the trees seeming taller. Perhaps Daryl feels smaller, insignificant from the surge of miracles and events he can only label as a dream. Then he feels invincible; from the feeling of knowing he hasn't lost what he had thought he had, that he has a purpose in the world. In this world, it's possible. In the past, he had been a shadow of all the things he despised. Merle, his father, the faint memory of his mother, the people he had grown up with, the only life he had known and the man he would have become if he had stayed. Then he had met Glenn. He had met Rick, Shane, Lori, Carl, Andrea, Amy, Jim, Carol, T-Dog, Jacqui, Morales and his family... Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Jimmy, Patricia... The good memories. The painful memories. Sophia... Dale... Michonne... The Governor... So many others. Daryl feels fatigue coming over him. All the people he had met on the way here, their faces flash by. And then it always, _always_ , returns to Glenn.

Daryl looks ahead. The green road signs indicate how many miles are left to larger cities, with white flakes stuck to the corners. New York City. Daryl suddenly has a headache but he studies the map.

"A couple more hours. I can drive from there." He might have a plan. But then he doesn't know what has happened to the city yet.

"Sure." Parker acknowledges him. Daryl drops off all too easily. There are no more dreams about the horrible things past, the things he cannot change, clawing at him from the inside. There are only blanks. Maybe it's a long stretch of road he can ride his motorcycle down for hours without seeing a soul. Maybe there is a pair of arms around his waist. Maybe there is an identical heartbeat against his back. There are no fears here, no scent of death swirling up with dust all around him. There are just a pair of hands clutching his shirt. The clean breeze against his face as he rips his bike down the clear even road. It's a good dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'we're all connected' is an idea from 'Cloud Atlas'. While I was writing this, I watched 'Cloud Atlas' and I think it influenced that small part. Parker is modeled after Ben Whishaw and Edmunds is after James D'arcy, whom were in 'Cloud Atlas' together. :)


	7. Chapter 07

+++

The low fire burned steadily. It wasn't warm enough but it was better than nothing. Glenn sat close, his whole body leaning against his arm. Perhaps warmth wasn't from the fire. It all came from Glenn. Daryl didn't complain.

People slept wherever they could. Daryl took watch and Glenn decided to sit up with him. Glenn mumbled about things, just because he felt the need to keep him company, but Daryl didn't tell him it wasn't necessary. He could stay awake all night listening to Glenn breathing, just for the small assurance that Daryl Dixon and Glenn Rhee still existed in this world.

"I had this game on my phone that I was playing. The battery died and I was going to charge it when I got home. It really sucks to think that the last thing I ever did on my phone was play a stupid game rather than... I don't know. Call my mom or something. I saw the things happen. I just couldn't believe it. I lost that stupid phone, trying to get out of Atlanta. I paid five hundred dollars for that. At that time, I was even thinking if I can claim for insurance to get a new one."

A chortle escaped, even though he had been trying to keep it in.

"Oh, shut up. That iPhone was my life. I had everything on it. And I know what you're thinking. I paid for it. It was more valuable to me because I paid for it, the phone and everything. I thought it would change my life."

Daryl wrapped his arm around Glenn's shoulders. He was trembling from the chilly night air.

"Did it?" Daryl asked. He didn't mind at all when Glenn talked.

"Not in the way it was advertised. But, yeah, I guess it did."

"Hmm." Daryl poked at the fire, breaking up the bigger piece of bright orange amber.

"It had this GPS app where you can find your friends. That would be something so useful now. We'd be able to track people so easily. We wouldn't get lost..."

"I'd find you, wherever you are."

"What if I... you know."

"Heaven or hell. Anywhere."

+++

Daryl's sixth sense is sharpened as they get closer. He can see the faint grey outline of the city. There is a strangeness in the air. He turns sharply into a small road in between the houses. The empty town has many roads. He stops the car in the deepest and darkest driveway. He turns the engine off.

"Get down and hide." He tells Parker. He crouches down, too. He can see the side mirror. His pistol is out, safety off and loaded, his finger on the trigger. A Humvee drives down behind them, ramming rogue cars out of the way. They stay still for a minute. He starts the car again, pulling out of the driveway.

Parker checks the magazine of the semi-auto rifle.

Daryl drives as fast as he can out of the town. His breathing is shallow and fast. He grips the steering wheel, ready to take off into action if he has to. He doesn't think the truck can take a chase with a Humvee or one of the other vehicles the military group has from the bay. He gets to the train station, stopping among the melee of abandoned cars. He needs to think. He needs to calm down. Parker is studying the map, trying in vain to find another way to get to a dock. Maybe there will be a boat there.

They duck just in time to be missed. Five or so trucks pass the station. They aren't looking for walkers. They're looking for people. Daryl tells Parker this.

"Why do they need people? They can't fight. They're mostly women and children, old folks."

Daryl doesn't say what's on his mind, afraid he may be right. Instead he says they need to get the base, look for the Major and the doctor. He doesn't fully trust the Major, but he trusts the doctor.

+++

It's been emptied. The whole base is emptied. The only thing that stands is the light house, tall and imposing. They check the medical half of the warehouse. Most of the supplies have been removed, only some gauze and a bottle of alcohol fallen and spilled all over the floor. The trailers are all empty. The one that looks like an office which the Major might have used, no one is in there. Daryl takes a moment to study the framed picture sitting on the wooden desk. The Major, three children and a woman who looks like an everyday housewife are smiling at him.

"Dixon!" Parker shouts. Daryl shoves the frame into his bag. He aims and hits a shriveling walker in the head. The bullet goes through, hits another but she doesn't go down. He pulls the trigger until the magazine is empty. He changes it, listening to the rifle Parker is shooting, the fall of empty shells on the asphalt. When the pistol is loaded, he aims and shoots, repeats. He has one chance to use his bow. He doesn't miss. With quick steps, he goes to retrieve the arrow. His knife sinks into the temple of a walker. Rotten blood thickly splatters over the exposed part of his face, hitting mostly the scarf he's covered himself with. He aims for another, using the bolt like a knife to stab through the eye socket. He sees Parker beat down the last one with the butt of the rifle.

"Where is everybody? Where's the Major? Aubrey?"

"The boat's still across the river," Daryl points. Brisk wind stabs them. Daryl heads back to the truck. If walkers can get in, it means this place is not safe. He drives out of the empty lot. "How much ammo do we got left?"

"Enough for another walker attack. Not enough if we're attacked by men."

Daryl pulls the scarf down. He shakes his head, trying to think. He has to think and he has to do it fast. The light is still bright enough but there is only an hour or so left until sunset. He flinches for a second. The gold of the ring around his finger reflects the light. The glint momentarily blinds him.

Daryl turns the truck around. He heads back to the train station.

"Where are you going?"

"Fernandez was always working on the sewer system underground."

"Yeah? So?"

"The city was full of underground tunnels. For subways. The old man... The priest at the church, he must have survived staying underground when he had to. There was a subway that ran underneath. When a bomb destroyed the church, it made a passage through the subway system."

"And there are no walkers down there?"

"Maybe. They can smell but they can't see in the dark. In that total darkness, if one hid well, would be safe."

"What about Fernandez?"

"Trains came and left the city through some of the underground tunnels, going under the river."

"They blocked those."

"They closed them. They couldn't be bombed, not unless they wanted to flood the entire island. They closed both ends where they thought it was enough to keep things from going through. If people worked enough on both ends, for about two years, they can clear enough space to move people."

Parker's brows quirked. "How did you figure all this?"

"It just occurred to me. All that time Fernandez spent working on the pipes, nothing ever got fixed."

+++

Daryl remembers the moment when he'd woken up in the bed Hershel has set up, to mend his wound. The unfamiliar smell of an old warm house, something cooking in the kitchen down the hall, and the cheery chatter of the women ringing all over the house. He'd been in a house like this, when he'd been little, before his mother died. It had been at a relative's house in the fancier suburbs, a house set on a farm. It must have been a holiday. Sweet smell of honey and butter had filled the house. He'd been running around the first floor, the porch, chasing and being chased by other boys and girls, all laughing and sticky with sweat. That had been the last good memory of his childhood for he'd never gone to that nice house again. His father must have been the cause, or maybe his brother. Maybe it had been him; he vaguely remembers a woman shrieking his name to stop running around.

Maybe he'd fallen that day. He doesn't remember but waking up in a room, with his side cold from the packed ice covered in cloth. He remembers crying because he'd been left out of the feast. He also remembers his father coming into the room, his drunken words calling him a little girl, a pansy, a faggot. He can't retaliate because it's his father and he doesn't remember what's happened. A big hand knocks his head. Daryl flinches back at the touch.

It takes strength to open his eyes. When he does, he can't focus.

"Hold on, Daryl, hold on. We'll get you fixed up. Just hold on."

He flinches at the touch on his shoulder. He has to will himself to stay still. Maybe to reciprocate the soft touches. He isn't a prude but he's never been with a man. But Glenn isn't just a man. Glenn is someone he wants so bad. There is a whisper in his ear. _Just stay still. I'll do all the work._ Daryl does just that. Fingers trace the lines of his collarbones. Fingers trace the scars and the old wounds. He winces at each. Glenn follows each wince with a kiss on his mouth. Daryl can't help the tight grip on the smooth milky thigh straddling him. Glenn is so tight, absorbing him, his need, his desire, his agony and pleasured whimpers. Glenn's harsh breathing and the heat of his skin melt him.

"Daryl." Fingers grip his face. "Don't do that. Hold on. Just hold on a little longer."

Daryl shifts the soft strand fallen over Glenn's eyes. He rubs away the line of sweat over the brows. He leaves his hand where it is, cupping the perfect angle of his jaw. No one has ever made him feel this way. This exhausted, this satisfied, this weary, and this disarmed. No matter, Daryl thinks, if he can stay like this forever, it would be what heaven feels like.

He wakes to a sharp slap across his face. He sees a blurry vision of a white hair man. "...Hershel..?"

"Stay here, damn it. Stay right here."

"Aubrey."

There is a burn on the joint of his arm and shoulder. He can't move the left arm. He tries to move but it hurts so much. Now he remembers. At the station, he'd found them. They had not long to get the cars packed and moving. Half of the people had decided to stay on the island. To give up. The other half, Andrea had lead down to the church. The old priest had shown them the way to the tunnel Fernandez had dug up. They had all crossed the long tunnel, ending up at the other end. Just as they were trying to get out of the lot, the military came, shooting at their cars. A few were shot down. Most had escaped. Parker had taken the driver's side, Daryl shooting out the other. The second car had his family, car driven by Nigel, their neighbor. The Major had taken a bullet to his leg but still fought on, giving directions. The few soldiers who followed the Major had split off to try to help the other people. Fernandez had lead the first pack and had gone ahead.

And then, just as they thought it was safe enough, the windshield had taken a bullet. It had hit Daryl.

+++

Snow falls again. The truck moves slowly, followed by the van containing his family. They'd stopped once to move Daryl to a more comfortable position, to temporarily treat him the best that the doctor can with whatever he had salvaged from the bay's warehouse. It isn't the best he can do, but for now, the bleeding has stopped. Daryl leans back into the folded blankets beneath him. The bullet had missed organs but his shoulder is immobile. The Major had packed enough weapons for all of them and more. He'd been prepared for Daryl's return.

"I had trust in you to do that." The Major tells him, hand squeezing his good shoulder.

Daryl grumbles something but can't fight the smirk raising his lips. He makes sure Andrea, Maggie and Carl are alright. Judith hugs his right arm tight as they roll out.

Maggie takes the wheel again with Parker directing the way. She looks at him through the rear view from moment to moment. He's fully conscious now. Keeping his mind on the road, on his family, and for the destination eases the pain just a little. He explains to her in short words about where he'd gone. And Glenn. She burst into tears, swiping her hands over her eyes, but keeps the truck steady.

They drive all through the night. Snow is steady, sticking on the glass. In the silence, Daryl has moved his arm, his hand running through Judith's hair. There is only one thing missing now. His left hand, resting over his thigh, his finger accustomed to the band of gold. It would feel empty without. He stays awake, throughout the rest of the trip. The sun rises behind them.

+++

"Heaven or Hell. Anywhere."

"What if no such places exist?"

"Doesn't matter. I would know where you were."

"You're silly, Daryl. Sometimes."

"It's like God knows everything about us. All the goodness and all the sinfulness inside of us. That's something I learned in Bible school." Glenn didn't laugh at him or make fun of him. Glenn had his eyes on him. Glenn listened to him in earnest. Daryl tightened the hold he had on his shoulders, feeling Glenn relaxing more against his side. "I also learned God knows us because he loves each and every one of us. It's the humans who fight in his name, hate, disagree and kill. He has his gaze on us, because he loves us: an everlasting gaze."

Glenn did not reply.

"I guess... I wouldn't really know where you were if you were to disappear from me. I would do anything to get you back... What I mean is that I would love only you."

Glenn kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I know exactly what you mean."

+++

Daryl stands in the knee deep snow. They had to stop the trucks, unable to drive up any farther. The trek had taken them a little longer than 2 hours. Daryl had cleaned the blood off with the snow, wincing from the gauze and the wrap the doctor made out of an old tee shirt. He and Parker lead half the group, Maggie, Nigel and Dr. Aubrey hike up the rest of the way to the research lab. The rest stay with the trucks, to put together their supplies, and to stay with Judith. Andrea whispers to Daryl she just can't face Glenn yet. Not yet. Daryl understands, laying a firm hand over her shoulder.

They come to the lab, half hidden in the snow. The gate is open. There are snow pushed all around the lot. Daryl holds up his crossbow, finger on the trigger. They make their way into the building. The electricity is off and the elevator does not run. They take the staircase down. No alarm goes off when the door is opened. Daryl knows but has to see for himself. His heart beats loudly inside his ears. His body shivers, the eerie sense of that déjà vu returning.

Parker opens the exit door. Daryl looks inside the dark hallway. Maggie tosses him a flashlight. There is nothing. Not even a walker. They make their way around the hall, the rooms, and the labs. Everything looks the way he'd seen it last only a couple of days ago. All except the darkness, the stuffy air and the lack of people. Daryl has a flash of thought where maybe he'd been dreaming of the entire day. But he's been here, had felt the physical presence of people, and most importantly of Glenn. He looks back at Parker. He whispers, "What happened? Where is everyone?"

Daryl shakes his head and leads the group down towards the room where he'd found Glenn. It, too, is empty. He tells everyone to stay there. He goes back out into the hall, walks down, turns a corner to the room he and Glenn had shared for one night. He carefully steps in. The room is empty. He sits on the mattress, putting the bow down. His body feels heavy. He scans the room with the flash light. He is scared, afraid, knowing he isn't here again. He feels as though he's failed him again. There is no splash of dark blood on the wall. Even without lights, the whole place is white, void of any sort of threat. It frightens him more because it is so pristine. The lack of any kind of activity is the thing that scares him most.

Then he sees it. The small table across the room from the bed, something catches his eyes. He walks over. It's the token, their promise, the one thing to connect him to Glenn. He studies it, finding the carving inside. 012. It's smaller than his own. It glints from the flash light. Daryl picks up the crossbow and finds his group again. They find their way back to the stair case, climbing up to the surface. In the brightness of the day, the reflecting lights from the snow, Daryl smiles in understanding. He studies the tracks on the snow in the parking lot.

"Daryl?" Maggie calls to him.

"We have to go. We have to go before we lose the tracks."

"What happened?" The doctor asks him.

"It looks like..." The hunter instincts are shouting at him from the inside. "...They had to leave everything. Those tracks there, they're big trucks, the kind military might have."

"Not Humvees," Nigel supplies. "But big enough for heavy artillery. Look how the snow sinks in deeper there."

"I think they left before the military got here though. It's just..."

"Where?" Parker says. He has the knowing look on his face. Daryl nods to him with a smirk.

"I didn't see anything we can use down there. First, let's head back to the trucks before we lose the light. We need to find shelter, and supplies the first thing tomorrow. And then..." Daryl trails off, unsure.

"We'll find them. I'm sure of it." Maggie puts a hand on his arm. "We need to fix you up though."

"Yeah. Alright. Let's move!" Daryl leads the group, down the mountain. He has his family with him, people he can depend on, to care about and to care for him. It's enough for now. And he's sure Glenn is alive somewhere. The ring, left, as if to say, _Come find me._ A reason to breathe, a reason to keep on fighting, to keep on living. Daryl covers his face with the thick scarf around his neck. 

_I'll find you, wherever you are._

-the end-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! any questions and comments are welcome and appreciated!  
> Also check out the fanmix and cover arts made by Gryph [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/750288), if you haven't already! They're awesome!  
> smallfandombang was so much fun!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art and Fanmix for "The Everlasting Gaze"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/750288) by [Gryph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryph/pseuds/Gryph)




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